Azalea
by Arabella Figgy
Summary: Side Story to Of Love And War


Azalea

When did he start snoring? He must have picked up that in Azkaban because I can't remember that every waking me up. And although I was nowhere near the rock that was Sirius Black when I slept, I was still pretty damned hard to wake. Look at him. It isn't so hard to believe that he turns into a dog. I mean, it isn't that he is some sort of dog or something; the man has to be the sexiest in the world. Of course the years in Azkaban had changed this face so much that only traces of the face of the Sirius that I knew at Hogwarts still existed. But he was still the same inside; he was still the Sirius that I knew and fell in love with at Hogwarts so long ago. But I digress.

It isn't hard to realize that Sirius had to be a dog. They say that when you become an Animagus the type of animal you will transform into is determined by your unique personality. Deep down, Peter had the soul of a rat. And then the grace of James in the air was naturally disposed to the elegance of the stag. And Sirius, well, Sirius is an overgrown puppy, given the body capable of defending himself and his friends, but with the loyal soul of the one friend who would sooner die than put us in danger. He proved that.

It wasn't enough that I had to be there when they caught him. The tribunals and hearings into my relationship and what I knew about the 'traitor Sirius Black.' Every time Barty said that I wanted to throw up all over him. It made me sick. It was horrible, being there that night and seeing those dead Muggles. But somehow, even though I was there, even though I saw it all, I knew then he didn't do it. I knew, but I didn't quite believe it. It was like my brain, the stupid part of it anyway dominated my heart, the part in which I knew Sirius would sooner marry Moaning Myrtle than join Voldemort and betray Lily and James. How many times had I been with him at their home, watching him play with Harry, laughing at Lily's lame attempts at cooking, playing Quidditch in the backyard with James, Remus and I while Peter looked envious the skill and Lily looked worried like she always did at each one of James's matches. Those days imprinted on me the deep brotherly love that James and Sirius had. No matter what I may have believed during those years while he was in Azkaban, there was always a part of me that knew it wasn't true.

How I never figured out that it was Peter I will never understand. While I was never as book-smart as Lily, I was a much better judge of character than she was. I suppose it was because they didn't tell Dumbledore about the switch. That would have changed everything. For one thing, I wouldn't have lost him.

When he broke out, I spent two weeks with a collective two hours of sleep, half dreading, and half wishing that he would come to me. The picture of him on the Daily Prophet gave me no comfort; it was like he was someone else. It didn't occur to me he would have spent all those years only being able to remember the bad times, as the Dementors had stolen everything else from him. As the days past and he didn't come, I slowly came to believe that he was afraid that I would turn him in or something. The thought ate at me for the two years that he was free. Every morning I woke up thinking today he would come. But he didn't. 

When Remus contacted me, telling me that Dumbledore wanted me to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, I waved him off and asked about Sirius. He gave me a cock-and-bull story about how he was in some sort of protective hiding like James and Lily were, but he was never that good of a liar. I tried to wear him down, but I might as well been talking to the azalea bush that I planted the day Sirius escaped outside of my mother's house for all the good it did me. So the day I got on the Hogwarts Express I had resigned my self that Sirius was afraid of me and that I would never see him again.

Resigned isn't the word. I felt like I had my own personal Dementor shadowing my every move, taking every single happy memory of Sirius I had and crushing against the cliffs of Dover.

And then I saw him. He couldn't transform of the train; it was too dangerous. But when I looked into his doggie eyes, the fear I expected to see wasn't there. It was a sadness mixed with longing that I was well acquainted with, as I had seen it everyday in my own eyes for fifteen years.

Fifteen years. Could it have been that long? It felt like thirty. But when I went to Dumbledore's office, just to talk to him about Sirius, to ask the person who would never lie to me about him, he was there.

A wave of emotion consumed me. I wanted to scream, I wanted to cry, I wanted to dance, I wanted to throw him down of Dumbledore's desk and make up for fifteen years of forced chastity. But all I could do was run to him, praying with every part of my being that he would hold me. And he did.

Five hours later (but who's really counting) we were lying in my bed, with him snoring like a buzz saw and me pondering my existence without him. I don't want to ever have to do that again. If they catch him again, they'll administer the Kiss and I swear I'll sign up voluntarily. Because I learned the hard way that without him, I have nothing to live for. Maybe that will change. Maybe we'll have a kid (but, please God, not yet) and that will change everything. But for right now, I want to stay with him until the end. His hair, his smile, his eyes, his mouth, every single part of him is me. I am him, just as much as he is me. I can't be without him again.

So for right now I smile, and kiss his closed eyes lids which doesn't get as much as a twitch out of the incredible human sleeping stone, blissfully happy in the knowledge that the personal Dementor is far away indeed.


End file.
